ABOUT HER Read online

  That shit was all so exhausting.

  “You okay?” he asked from across the room, as though he could sense my change in mood.

  He was good at that. Being in tune with me. It was one of the things I absolutely adored about him.

  “I’m good. I’m going to try out the fancy shower.”

  “Great! Enjoy. Use all the hot water so Cal doesn’t have any.”

  I giggled at his childish order, saluting him and heading for the bathroom.

  TWO

  The shower was easy to turn on. I’d been in enough hotel rooms traveling for my day job to quickly decipher how new faucets turned on and off. The heat from the water created an instant steam that fogged up the glass walls. I immediately felt less self-conscious.

  I’d locked the door, but still.

  My body image was a constant struggle. I’d battled with weight all through school, and being tall for a girl, carried a little proportionate extra. When I’d gotten pregnant with Leah at nineteen, the doctor told me that I was underweight for 5’6”. But that was all he told me. So, I figured that meant eat macaroni and cheese and cookies until Leah was born. I’d put on sixty pounds and lost it within the first year. It came off easily back then with the help of mixed-CDs ripped off Napster and a Tae-Bo DVD.

  But I never felt beautiful.

  Cal would call me fat as often as possible. I’d get angry but I took it. My body wasn’t shaped the same as it had been as an eighteen-year-old girl. I went from an A cup to a C cup almost overnight. I had an hourglass shape that used to be a tomboyish figure. But I’d had a baby, and having a baby changes a woman.

  So I’d heard. But Cal insisted I was just fat.

  I got thin again, and Cal didn’t like that. When Leah was almost a year old, he fucked me on the living room couch but didn’t pull out. He stood up and counted on his fingers. “December,” he announced, as though his seed was my gift and I’d be bestowed with his offspring in ten short months.

  He was right, and I was “fat” again.

  This time, it was around my hips. Love handles, as they were so affectionately called. But that time, I gained thirty pounds. And Clay was born.

  I struggled after Clay. I kept the weight. Things went from bad to worse with Cal. But eventually, I lost the extra pounds again, and then some, thanks to Weight Watchers.

  Cal didn’t like that. He didn’t like the short skirt I’d bought at Target for my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s bachelorette party. Cal thought other men would be looking at me since I wasn’t fat anymore.

  So he fucked me on the couch and he didn’t pull out. And ten months later, Lilly was born.

  I closed my eyes, cringing at the typhoon of negative energy filling my body.

  Let it go. Move on.

  I have moved on.

  I’m with Jake now. Not that I needed a man to define my self-worth or self-image, but he made me feel beautiful, all the time, twenty-four-seven. And he told me I was beautiful. He called me beautiful, like it was my name.

  Beautiful Lizzie.

  The hot water pulsed on my back.

  I’d lost a lot of weight after the divorce but gained some of it back. Jake didn’t care, and he told me so. When I said I hated how thin Lana was in a petty outburst, Jake only narrowed his eyes and declared he liked his woman to look like a woman.

  I liked how he said wo-man. Emphasis on the whoa.

  I took a moment to appreciate how clean the shower was. Virginia obviously had her hands full with such a huge house. I imagined there had to be a maid service that she hired to help her with the cleaning and upkeep.

  I’m definitely paying her. Even if I have to send money after we leave.

  I had a hard time accepting anything, especially gifts, which made Christmas and birthdays a nightmare for Jake. I assured him that all I ever wanted were memories with him, but he really liked our memories to include diamonds.

  I had no idea why my mind suddenly decided to dredge up the past. I’d worked hard to leave the details of my previous marriage exactly where they belonged in my new marriage with Jake. Buried. Real deep. But having Cal and Lana somewhere in the same house with me only poked me in the feelings.

  In the years since our divorce, I’d spent one night with Cal. Lilly was admitted overnight in the hospital, and Cal insisted on staying at the hospital with me. I wasn’t leaving Lilly, of course, so I had to endure Cal’s snoring for five long, miserable hours from across the hospital room. In those hours, I thought about so many things.

  Murder and suicide. Birth and death. Marriage and divorce.

  By morning, I vowed to never spend another night in his presence, no matter what the situation.

  And yet, there I was.

  I got out of the shower and dried with one of the oversized white towels rolled and stacked in a nearby basket. They smelled like bleach, one of my favorite scents. Jake hated the smell of bleach, which might have been his only downfall.

  Narrowing my eyes, I focused on a large, brown stain as I sloughed the water from my legs. Old blood, I thought. Gross. I wondered how someone who so meticulously kept her home would allow for a blood-stained bath towel to be placed in a guest’s room.

  Maybe she uses a laundry service, I thought, choosing a different towel to finishing drying. I felt like an ungrateful shit for critiquing my free towel in my free B&B on the worst weather night of the year.

  I’m still paying her.

  “The highway is back open, even though the snow hasn’t let up,” Jake called as I slipped from the bathroom toward our suitcase. “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

  “Great. What happened to football?”

  “Just basic cable. The WIFI appears to be down. And no reception on our phones again. No network. How is that possible? We’re not that far off the highway.”

  “Maybe it’s the storm, who knows. Though I don’t understand how that would affect cell towers.”

  “Me neither.”

  I dug lotion out of my bag and found my oversized Cleveland Indians t-shirt to sleep in. I hated sleeping with wet hair, but I was too tired to dry it. I never woke up looking like I’d just gotten wind-kissed by salty beach air. I woke up like I’d slept in our barn and our cow had been licking my head all night.

  “This house is really neat, but kind of creepy.” Jake gestured to one of the dozen or so oil paintings on the wall, each one a random nineteenth century portrait. “A lot of eyes. I get the feeling somebody’s watching me.”

  I giggled. “Every move you make, every breath you take.”

  He chuckled at our goofy exchange. That was us. We were always in each other’s heads, finishing each other’s sentences. We were a match made in Heaven.

  Or an online dating site.

  “Your eyes are so blue tonight,” he said, and I smiled at him. I would catch him staring at me all the time, never critiquing. Always admiring. Even on my worst days, when I would let the whispers in.

  That look is so unflattering.

  Why do you never let me see you naked?

  Fat bitch.

  After so many years of an abusive marriage, I couldn’t help but balance all the new good I was fed daily from Jake with the old bad from Cal. Jake knew it and could feel the scales tip back and forth when he’d compliment me.

  “You’re beautiful. Come here.”

  He’d always tip them further in his favor, chasing away the dark demons of the past. I backed up to him, hugging his arms securely as he kissed the back of my hair. I didn’t mind that his hands rested on my belly, even with my stretch marks.

  . . .

  I was an early riser, especially when I wasn’t in my own room. Jake was snoring softly on the other side of the bed. Reaching for my phone, I lit the screen to see it was 6:30 a.m.

  Still no reception.

  I slipped quietly to my bag, rooting through to find something presentable. A glance in the mirror confirmed my dark hair was a matted mess. I finger-combed as best I could before sl
ipping on some warm leggings and a zippered hoodie.

  The house was quiet. I prayed I didn’t run into Cal or Lana downstairs. I knew, from what the kids told me, that Lana was a heavy sleeper like Cal and would sleep until noon if given the opportunity. With the first hints of dawn through the oversized, stained-glass windows, I was able to see more of the detail in the home.

  The carpet was red and dramatic, with a Persian design that was typical of the Victorian days. I’d written a Victorian-era romance and had used specific words to describe the carpet my bare feet padded over, but they escaped me in my search for coffee.

  On the way down the incredibly wide staircase, I noticed a narrow staircase above me. A third floor. Probably a servant’s keep, once upon a time. I made a mental note to ask Virginia about them later.

  “Hey. You hear from the kids?”

  I jumped and stifled a scream. “Jesus, Cal.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. We don’t have reception. Do you?” he asked, unlacing one snowy boot.

  “No, we don’t either. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re with my parents, so they’re being thoroughly spoiled.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table, shrugging off his coat and cursing. “The fucking car won’t start. I think it’s the battery. Do you think I could get a jump from Jake when he’s up?”

  I rubbed my eyes. Cal was a lot to take, especially in the morning before coffee. “Sure. We weren’t up too late, so he’ll be awake soon.”

  “Good morning,” Virginia said, carrying a carafe of what I hoped was coffee to the kitchen table. “I hope everyone slept well! Were you warm enough?”

  “Toasty,” I replied, smiling. “Thank you again. Your home is so lovely.”

  She beamed, retrieving two coffee mugs from the cabinet. “You’re a dear for saying so. It was a pet project of mine for some time. Trying to restore the place to its original beauty.”

  “You’re doing a great job,” I answered, trying to be conversational while simultaneously scoping out the coffee bar. Sugar. Cream?

  “Cream?” she asked, as though reading my mind.

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “And you, Cal?”

  “Whatever you got, thanks,” he answered.

  “You mind if I play some music? I love music.”

  I narrowed my eyes but held my smile. Who didn’t love music? “Of course. It’s your house,” I replied.

  “Well, I like to be mindful of my guests,” she explained, crossing the large kitchen to a vintage radio on the buffet. I knew the old-time record players were a current fad, but this one looked like an original.

  The song crackled as she set the needle to the grooves of the record. The music flowed through the old speakers, bottled and bluesy.

  “Oh, you like jazz? I love jazz,” Cal commented, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Listen to that trumpet.”

  Virginia retrieved the pitcher of cream from the refrigerator with a slight shake of her head. “That’s a cornet, Cal. And that’s the late, great Louis Armstrong.”

  A woman’s woeful voice sang lyrics I couldn’t quite interpret with no caffeine in my system. “Yeah? Sweet. I’m a fan. Jazz, blues, all of it. Hey, Lizzie, remember when we went to the Gary Clark Jr. concert downtown that time?”

  I exhaled slowly, dumping sugar into my coffee.

  “Yes.”

  Cal did that. He brought up things we did in our past constantly, whenever we spoke. I never could figure out if it was because he missed our past life or if he just lived in the past.

  I cringed as I thought of Lana. If I were him, I’d live in the past, too.

  “St. Louis Blues. And that’s Bessie Smith on vocals. It’s said that, right before this performance was recorded, she was telling the crowd how the song made her think of her own death,” Virginia explained as she gathered ingredients for what appeared to be a huge breakfast.

  I widened my eyes at the tabletop, wondering how I could politely excuse myself and take my coffee back to my room with Jake.

  “That’s so sad,” I managed, lifting my eyes to her.

  “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,” Virginia recited before confirming my suspicions that she was quoting. “William Congreve.”

  Who? Uh-huh. “Could I trouble you for another cup? I’d like to take Jake some coffee.”

  She turned and looked at me for a long moment, finally nodding. “Oh, of course, honey. So, you and Cal are divorced?” she asked, retrieving another mug and placing it on the table.

  “Yes,” I replied, glancing at Cal. He was busy fixing his own coffee.

  Sugar. Cream. He preferred half-and-half, not the non-dairy coffee-creamer Virginia had provided. I could read his thoughts.

  They were always very close to the surface.

  “And you have children together?” she urged.

  “Three. Two girls and a boy,” I answered. “Leah, Clay, and... and Lilly.”

  She regarded me for a long moment. “Oh, how darling. For the first letters in each of your names. How old?”

  I swallowed a hard gulp of coffee, gripping the mug handle. It usually took a moment for people to pick up on that, unless they chose their own children’s names in the same fashion. “Yes, I was that trendy mom. Eighteen, sixteen, and eleven. Twelve, I mean,” I corrected.

  “And Jake and Lana? Do they have children also?”

  Too much information. I took another sip, and this time Cal answered. “Lana has a daughter from her first marriage. She’s three.”

  Yes, do the math, Virginia. I suddenly wanted her sympathy. Sympathy from this woman I barely knew. I wanted her to string the puzzle pieces together to recognize that Lana had left her husband for a married man, after she’d just had a baby herself.

  I did that a lot after our divorce. I’d tell every female I came across the entire story of how my husband of nearly two decades had cheated on me and announced that he was leaving in front of our three children. On the night before Thanksgiving.

  I told the customer service representative at my car insurance company, when I called to take Cal off my policy. Because he’s a cheater, I’d say. My dental hygienist. I have cavities because of him, because he makes me grind my teeth when I sleep. The mortgage company, when I explained I wanted the house to go to foreclosure because I wanted his credit ruined.

  I wanted their comradery, their sister-power. Their tsk-tsk-shake-of-the-head combo.

  I wanted someone to understand my pain.

  Clay still hated Thanksgiving.

  The trumpet, or cornet, or whatever the hell it was whined in my ear. I hated Jazz. “Jake has two grown sons,” I managed, finishing my coffee. I liked to pound the first cup and nurse the second. “Virginia, do you happen to have a land line? Neither of us can seem to get network reception in the house.”

  Virginia paused her egg-whisking, nodding our way. “Oh, yes, it’s a frequent problem, especially during weather events. No landline, unfortunately. When I had the house remodeled, I had the existing landlines removed for faulty wiring, but didn’t see a need to replace, since I relied on my cell.”

  “Makes sense,” Cal acknowledged. “This house really is cool. Lizzie is an author, did you know that? She writes books and loves to research historical homes. This would be a perfect setting for a murder mystery or something.”

  Virginia laughed, and I cringed at Cal. Again with his detailed knowledge of me.

  I wanted that knowledge back. I wished that the dissolution decree included an amendment that stated, “Spouse B no longer has any intimate memories of Spouse A, and vice-versa.”

  Oh, how I wished I had no intimate knowledge of our history.

  “That’s so interesting! Do you write under your name, or a pen name?” Virginia asked, heating a cast-iron skillet.

  “A pen name. I use my grandmother’s maiden name.”

  Because I had to rebrand my self-published books after Cal. Because even though my children had his last name, I didn’t wa
nt it, and I certainly didn’t want my books to tie me to him in any way.

  They were my escape.

  “I better run upstairs and check on Lana. Hey, do me a favor and knock on my door when Jake wakes up?”

  I nodded, sipping my coffee.

  The air around me seemed lighter, and it was easier to breathe. Virginia arranged some bacon in a dish. I assumed she’d fried the pork in the same skillet, before the eggs.

  Use the bacon grease, Lizzie. The eggs will taste delicious.

  I remembered my grandmother’s words from so long ago.

  “It’s still very raw between you two,” she said. “I can feel it. Was he the one to leave?”

  I inhaled slowly.

  Exhaled even slower.

  “Yes. Cheated.”

  She nodded, brushing her hands over her half-apron. “I had one of those in the past. Cheating husbands. It gets easier.”

  I kept my eyes in my coffee mug, focused on a single, rogue ground.

  “Yes, it does. Every year. It’s been three.”

  Virginia didn’t look up from the skillet as she said, “Would you like me to join you for breakfast?”

  How in the hell was I supposed to respond to that?

  No, thanks, I don’t like people. Truth.

  I don’t eat in the mornings. Lie, I was starving.

  I’ll wait for Jake. He never ate until midday.

  “That would be nice. I’m so sorry, I should have offered to help. Here I am just sitting here being served. What can I do?”

  Virginia smiled at me, one of those too-wide smiles. “It’s my pleasure! But I’d love a hand with the danishes. They’re cooled enough now for icing. Would you mind?”

  I gave her a hesitant grin, nodding. “Um, sure. But I have to warn you in advance. I’d be much better at doing the dishes or something. I can’t cook. Or bake. And sometimes I can’t microwave either.”

  She laughed. Her tittering chuckle was musical, like she was humming a song.

  “Oh, Lizzie, icing is the easy part. Here.”

  She gathered a bag with a plastic tip in her hands, one of those professional-looking kinds they used on baking shows. I watched her frame the cheese danish with a squiggly line, and then mimicked her movements for the second one.